The Letter
by Phx
Summary: Secret Santa 2007 Prompt: An oversight sends a very determined young Sam Winchester into the dark night on Christmas Eve. WeeChesters
1. Chapter 1

**_Merry Christmas, Trasan! I'm your Secret Santa. I hope you enjoy this and won't be too disappointed. You gave such wonderful prompts it was hard to pick just one :) Phx_**

**The Letter**

**Chapter 1 – **

"Daddy?"

John sighed with aggravated patience. His seven-year-old son was supposed to be in the other room, sleeping.

"Did you mail my letter to Santa?"

It was the night before Christmas and his younger son had pressed the curled up envelope into his hand earlier that morning insisting that it be mailed right away.

'_It's important, Daddy! __Super__ important!' _

The hunter didn't even bat an eye as he continued writing in his journal, "Of course I did, Sam. Now go back to bed."

His son didn't move. He stayed in the doorway of the room he and his older brother were sharing in the back woods cabin they were currently calling home. Sam shifted the weight between his feet and the movement made John sigh, again. This time he put down his pen and looked up. "Is there something else?"

"No… uh, yes?" the little boy hedged as he reached up and pushed the hair out of his eyes with a wave of impatience. The man noted it would need to be cut soon. _And wasn't that always fun?_

"Are you asking me or telling me, Sam?" John tried to keep his impatience in check but he was tired and stressed; the festive season festered like an open wound on his soul. His beloved Mary had loved Christmas, so for her he'd tried to keep the holiday in some way, but each year it got just a little bit harder until now, seven years later it was damn near impossible. So he'd sent the boys to bed early and took comfort in a couple of quick shots of whiskey before sitting down to research. There was _always_ something to research.

"Do you think it'll make it in time?" the words tumbled out. "I mean it's real important that Santa gets it. I thought really hard about what I wanted this year and I know if he gets the letter, I'll get my wish! I just know it!"

'_Damn'_, John closed his eyes and scrubbed a hand over his face._ A shave wouldn't hurt…_ Things were so much easier with Dean. Dean knew Santa didn't exist and as tempted, as John was to set his younger son straight on that, he was also just as hesitant. Sam was their one last remaining link to innocence – the reminding spark that kindled the fire whenever the embers burned down – and he wasn't quite willing to give that up yet. _Besides which I'm pretty damn sure Dean would kill me if I told Sammy, on Christmas Eve, that Santa didn't exist_! So not this year… maybe next year… He'd have to talk to Dean about it, the older boy being the expert on all things 'Sammy'.

"It'll get there," he assured the boy, mildly curious about what the child wanted so desperately. Not that it really mattered since 'Santa' had already decided that Sam needed new jeans and Dean, winter boots. The boys would be disappointed but that was something they needed to get used to. Winchesters never got what they asked for. Not without one hell of a price anyways.

'_John, I want another baby…'_

The hunter shook off the memory. He hated and blamed a lot of things for his wife's death, but the child squirming in front of him was not one of them. He frowned at the motion; Sam wasn't usually _that_ wriggly. "What's the matter with you?"

A small smile flashed across the boy's face and then, without warning, he launched himself at his father and gave the startled man a surprisingly strong hug. "Don't worry, Daddy," Sam breathed into his neck and then pulled away from his father before the man could respond, "Everything is gonna be all right – you'll see! Once Santa gets mu letter!" The boy was absolutely vibrating, "You'll see!"

"Sammy? Get your ass back in here!" Dean's voice called out from the other room and the seven year old was instantly gone, bare feet padding across the cold floor in his haste. He paused briefly in the doorway to give one final double dimpled grin and a small wave before disappearing into the darkness of the other room.

John just stared after him, humbled by his son's enthusiasm and open display of affection. When the door between them closed he glanced down guiltily at the journal he'd been writing in, and at the small white envelope marked _'Mr. Santa Claus, North Pole'_ that he'd been using as a bookmark.

His gut twitched – he hadn't mailed it; the weather had turned bitterly cold and the man hadn't seen the necessity of prolonging his errands earlier that day to find a mailbox.

"Damn it," he hissed and then stood up and stretched out the kink in his back. This was ridiculous. Here he was feeling guilty about not mailing a kid's letter to someone who didn't even exist! _Pathetic, Winchester._ Although he knew deep down, that that wasn't what he felt bad about. He just wasn't sure whether it was that he hated lying to Sam, or that he hated that Sam believed him so easily when he did.

Grumbling under his breath as he closed the journal, John glanced at the time and decided he needed coffee. And not the crap kind he kept in the cupboard. Grabbing his warm jacket and car keys, the hunter shoved his feet into his boots and left the cabin, confident that an eleven year old Dean could take care of things until he got back. He wasn't going to be gone long anyways, just long enough to get a coffee and maybe – depending on what the 24 hour gas station sold – something a little extra for the boys in the morning.

Something a bit more than a pair of jeans and new boots.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

"Stop bugging Dad," Dean chastised as soon as his younger brother slipped beneath the covers next to him. "You're supposed to be asleep."

"I wasn't bugging him," Sam defended himself. "I was just making sure he didn't forget."

"Is this about that stupid letter again?" Dean huffed.

"It isn't stupid," the younger boy shoved himself to the other side of the bed, away from Dean, in physical protest to his brother's mockery. "You're stupid!"

"Oh very mature, Sammy," Dean turned onto his side putting his back to his brother. "Just go to sleep."

"Fine," his brother huffed back at him.

Dean snorted softly and then settled down against the pillow. He heard their father leave the house and he frowned. Sam heard the same thing, "Dean?"

"He's probably just going to get coffee or something," he tried to reassure the younger boy, unsurprised when he felt the smaller body suddenly pressed against him. He resisted a smile. "Don't worry, bro, I got it covered."

Sam didn't say anything and after a few minutes, Dean felt his younger brother's breathing even out and knew he was asleep. _'Finally,'_ he thought and then closed his eyes. As he drifted off he just hoped Sam wouldn't be too disappointed in the morning.

…

A pesky bladder woke Sam up shortly after he'd fallen asleep. He lay next to his brother listening to Dean's steady breathing as he debated whether or not he should get up now to use the bathroom or wait until morning. _'Pee on me, twerp, and you are so dead!' _The decision wasn't really a hard one to make, so as stealthily as he'd been taught, the seven year old slipped out of bed and padded down the hall towards the bathroom.

Closing the door, he quietly finished his business and washed his hands.

Remembering his father had left earlier, Sam wondered if he was back yet and peeked into the other room. _Daddy has to be in bed or Santa can't come! _He expected to see his father sleeping on the rag tag old couch in the corner or scribbling furiously in his journal, but he saw neither. The room was empty except for the small tree he and Dean had put up yesterday. His father hadn't come back yet.

Concerned, the child quietly walked towards the small corner table his father used as a desk and saw the journal. It was odd that his Dad had left it behind. His father took it everywhere. Deciding to ask Dean about it, Sam turned to leave when something familiar caught his eye. Frowning in confusion, the child opened the journal and then gasped in shock. There, _unmailed_, was his letter to Santa! _Oh no!!_

Sam didn't understand. His father had told him he'd mailed it… _Did Santa send it back?_ With trembling fingers, the little boy tugged open the flap and pulled out the letter expecting there to be some sort of reply, but there wasn't. It was Sam's letter. His father hadn't mailed it at all.

Tears pricked his eyes and he sniffed hard. There had to be some sort of mistake_! Daddy said he mailed it! He said so!_

Unable to process the betrayal, the child shook his head. Obviously his father had been confused by something and _thought_ he'd mailed the letter –

Sam's eyes widened. Oh this wasn't good. Not good at all. _If Santa doesn't get my letter, how's he going to know what I want?_ There was only one way now. _Sam_ would just have to mail the letter himself.

The little boy turned to get his brother but then stopped. Dean thought that writing to Santa Claus was _stupid_. Casting a nervous glance at the door, the child chewed at his lip. He wasn't supposed to go out by himself. And it was dark, and cold… The letter rubbed between his fingers and the child looked down back down at it. But _this_ was important… very important.

And the gas station had a mailbox.

He blew out a breath. _It isn't that far…_ _and I know the way. We've driven there lots of time with Daddy!_ He could do this. He could!

Fired with determination, the child quickly slipped into his winter boots, grabbed his jacket and tucked the precious envelope into his pocket. Getting out the door without being heard would be the tricky part, but Sam was smart and quiet, after all he'd been taught by the best - his father and brother. So within minutes the tiny hunter was out the door and disappearing into the night, the contents of his coat pocket carefully guarded by a mittened hand and an excited spirit.

_This was going to be the best Christmas ever!  
_

_tbc_


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow, what a response. I am so glad people are enjoying this, most especially TraSan! So here is the next chapter!! And Merry Christmas!!**

**The Letter**

**Chapter 2 – **

John mentally kicked himself when he got to the gas station. He'd meant to take that damn letter and post it but had left it with his journal instead. "God-damnit," he hissed as he stalked into the small convenience store and then glared at the clerk. So help him God, he'd shoot the kid if he wished him _anything_ merry.

Unusually perceptive, the clerk dropped his eyes and went back to flipping through the pages of some teen magazine as he cracked his gum annoyingly, though John suspected he'd be watching the monitors pretty closely for a while.

"Stupid. Dumbass…" the hunter continued to berate himself under his breath as he searched the contents of the four aisles for something that might help ease the guilt that was sitting like a bit of undigested potato deep in his gut. _Yeah, just carve me up and call me Ebenezer…_ He hated feeling this way. Snorting in self disgust as he picked up a fuzzy dice car air freshener he wondered what Mary would think if she could see him now –

'_Air freshener? For a child? John…'_

Instantly he put the dice down.

He glanced towards the front counter. "You got any kids stuff in this place?" he called out.

The clerk practically jumped off his stool and then swallowed once before speaking, "We got some bugs with stickers on 'em up here." He indicated towards the front counter.

_Bugs with stickers? _John blinked hard – did he miss something? And then the teen held up a small, round topped yellow car, an encouraging smile on his face as he gave it a little shake. The hunter rolled his eyes._ A Volkswagen beetle?_ He could hear it now._ 'Yeah… Here boys', have a couple of pussy cars. And while you're at it, why don't you fix each others hair and I'll find you something pink to wear…'_ "You got anything else?" he voiced aloud and the clerk just shook his head.

"Sorry, sir, just the bugs -"he paused and then smiled widely as if something had just occurred to him, "Oh wait, we do have candy rings!"

_Someone, shoot me now…_

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Sam trudged alongside the dark unlit dirt roadway, the snow beneath his boots crunching as the cold made him shiver. The darkness scared him. He paused and stared back at the cabin longingly. Dean was there.

A noise nearby made him jump and he almost bolted as adrenaline pounded his heart in his chest. _Don't be such a chicken-shit, Sammy, Dean wouldn't be scared!_

Maybe if he showed Dean the letter, his brother wouldn't think it was so stupid and then Dean could come with him. He frowned as his teeth worried his bottom lip, '_but then it wouldn't be a surprise…'_ And maybe there was some sort of secret Santa rule about not letting other people see the letter, that Sam didn't know about.

The little boy shifted the weight between his feet in an effort to keep warm. He didn't know what to do. The cabin called to him, it would be so easy to just go back, crawl into the warm bed and snuggle under his big brother's arm. But then he'd never get his gift.

Shoving a hand into the pocket, Sam pulled out the envelope and stared at it. This was so important to him. He _needed_ to get this letter to Santa.

'_There ain't anything a Winchester can't do once he puts his mind to it, and you're a Winchester, Sammy, just like me and Dad!' _

He _could_ do this. He _was_ a Winchester. With renewed resolved he clutched the letter tightly in his gloved hand and continued on.

The night was bitterly cold and he used his free hand to try and pull his jacket more tightly around his neck as he wistfully regretted not grabbing his scarf or hat when he'd left. His heart continued to pound as he walked. He didn't like how the darkness twisted the shadows and wished, not for the first time, that they lived on a regular street like everyone else. Then there'd at least be some street lights. As it was, Sam also wished he'd remembered a flashlight. This wasn't very well planned at all. He should be in his bed.

The cabin was kinda cool, he guessed, but it was set back from the main road on the outskirts of town and surrounded by brush. Sure it was a great place for Dean to practice his shooting but that was about all, and it was taking the little boy a lot longer to walk to the road than he'd been expecting. He frowned tiredly. It certainly didn't take this long in the Impala –

Once again he considered going back to the cabin, knowing his spot in the bed would be still warm but then he remembered the special gift he'd asked Santa for and picked up the pace.

The sound of dirt crunching under heavy tires as a vehicle turned off the main road startled the youngster, but it was the familiar growl of the Impala's engine that sent panic coursing through his body. '_Oh no! If Daddy catches me now I'll never get to mail my letter!'_ Thinking quickly, Sam darted off the road and into the brush; crouching down, he hid and waited.

_Please, don't see me… please don't see me…_

After a few long moments and trembling with more than the cold, the child held his breath as the dirty black car slowly grumbled past –

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Dean shifted in the bed and then frowned. Too much bed, not enough little brother. Immediately his eyes flew open and he was sitting up. "Sammy?" The house was eerily quiet around him, the only sound being the insistent ticking of the bedside clock and the slight humming from the kitchen fridge.

_Oh this was not good… _

"Sam?" Dean tried again as he shoved the warm blankets off his legs. "Stop screwing around. It ain't too late for Santa to change his mind 'bout who's on the good list!"

Still no answering little brother.

"SAM!" the eleven year old bellowed as he quickly searched the small cabin for the younger boy. Sam wasn't in the bathroom or living room – there really wasn't any other place for the kid to be. His pulse racing, Dean stood in the middle of the empty cabin and sucked in a shaky breath. His brother was gone. "Oh shit…"

As if on cue, the pre-teen heard the throaty rumble of his father's car.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

John pulled the car up next to the cabin but didn't turn if off right away. He glared almost accusingly at the small plastic shopping bag on the seat next to him and truly felt he had reached an all time low as a father.

Deodorant. _Apparently you never were too young to worry about freshness… and they came with festive little bows on them_.

Chewing gum. _Could make for a quieter car ride…_

Fuzzy dice air freshener. _C'mon, who doesn't love Fuzzy dice?_ Okay, John had to admit, he might have bought that one more for himself. Mary would understand…

And, two stupid candy rings. _Damn clerk._

Rubbing a hand across his face wearily, he wished that his sons were a bit older. Skin mags would have been much simpler… and probably a lot more appreciated. Deciding he couldn't put this off any longer, John turned off the engine and got out of the car dreading seeing his son's letter tucked into the pages of his journal. He grabbed the plastic bag, slammed the door shut and walked towards the cabin.

Dean met him at the door.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Sam took off at a run. He tried not to think about how much trouble he was going to be in, confident that once he got his present, all would be forgiven; that they'd understand just why he had to do this. _They just have too!_ His nose ran and his breath came out in white puffs as he ran. He couldn't wait to see the look on their faces when they got up in the morning. This was going to be the best Christmas ever!

Slipping and sliding in the snow, the little boy hit the main road and continued his fevered pace for a few more minutes before burning leg muscles and heaving lungs forced him to slow down. Gasping hard now, he continued to clutch the letter and wondered just how much further he had to go. He really wished he knew how to drive –

"_HEY_!" a loud slurred voice was all the warning Sam got before his arm was grabbed in a vice-like grip and he was wrenched off the road and into the darkness –

…

The precious envelope, tightly grasped only moments before, fluttered for a moment in the cold air and then dropped gracelessly onto the frozen roadside…

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry about that cliffie, guys, but here is the next chapter! MERRY CHRISTMAS! **

**The Letter**

**Chapter 3 – **

"Sammy's missing!" Dean burst out before his father had even stepped inside. "I woke up and he was gone! I looked everywhere but he's just gone. _Gone!_" the eleven year old breathed out in near hysteria.

John just stared at him in shock. _What the hell-?_

"I didn't hear him! I don't know why, but I just didn't hear him!" Dean continued to beat himself up. "I should have – I -"

"Dean", John barked, his sharp tone stilling the almost vibrating pre-teen instantly. He didn't have time for this. "What do you mean gone?" He looked to the side where one pair of thread bare boots rested and then back at his son. "Did he take his coat too?"

The young hunter spun as he quickly glanced around the room. "Yes, sir," he nodded and swallowed hard, his young face guilt paled and grief-stricken. He took looking after Sammy very seriously. "Coat's gone."

"Shit," John sighed. He so did not need this tonight. _Damn it Sammy, I was gone twenty minutes. Twenty freakin' minutes!_ "Where the hell would he go?" he growled angrily, seriously contemplating tethering the kid to his bed once they got him back. Dean opened his mouth but John shook his head.

The _why_ wasn't as important – he'd get that out of Sam later – but then his eyes lit on the open page of his journal and suddenly he just knew. The why was everything… "Shit," he repeated under his breath. That damn letter.

"Dad?" Dean pressed uncertainly. The youngster was watching him with an unusual inventiveness and John knew his boy was looking for him to fix this. To bring his little brother home. _Sometimes it sucked being a super hero…_

The man scrubbed his face in agitation. "His Santa letter. He's gone to mail that damn thing!"

The eleven year old's eyes went wide; his gaze darted towards the door. "But didn't you -" his words cut off abruptly and he shifted uncomfortably. John glared at him and then growled,

"I didn't mail it, okay?" It came out a lot harsher than John had intended and a wide–eyed Dean took a step back. The man closed his eyes and forced himself to calm down. It wasn't Dean, or even Sam for that matter, that he was angry with. He should have never lied to Sam about that letter. Hell, he should have just mailed it like he was supposed to. Instead he screwed up. He misjudged just how much this meant to Sam and now Sam was missing. Again, John wondered for a moment what was so important in that letter. In a lighter tone, he tipped his head towards the door, "Look, its not you I'm angry with so just get your boots, I'll need an extra set of eyes on the side of the road… You know your brother, he can be a tricky little bugger if he doesn't want to be found."

"Yeah," Dean admitted as he scrambled to pull on his boots and coat. It was hard to miss the underlying note of pride in the kid's voice, "We trained him good, didn't we?"

"Too good apparently," the hunter admitted dryly. "He got out without you knowing…" he paused and then added, "You're slipping, Dean." He meant it as a tease but the spark of something that passed through the hazel eyes told him he might have missed his mark. John sighed, some day he'd get this right. This just wasn't that day. He yanked open the door, "Let's go."

At the foot of the stairs the hunter crouched down and ran an appraising eye over the snow, searching for size 4 footprints. The kid had deceptively large feet given his rather slight frame making the man speculate that Sam was going to be tall. _Maybe even taller then me or Dean… Now wouldn't that be something?_

Quickly finding the tracks, John started to follow on foot, motioning for Dean to stay behind him so the older boy wouldn't inadvertently disturb the trail. He'd trained Dean better than that, but right now the kid was preoccupied, letting his worry get the better of his head.

"Dad?" Dean's voice was a mere whisper behind him when John stopped and stared at the side of the road. His skillful gaze quickly discerned what Sam must have done as he saw the obvious trail from the road and back again. The part of John that wasn't the worried father was proud of the boy's quick thinking. The other part though was seriously pissed. Sam must have seen him and hidden from him on purpose. _At this rate, _the irate father mentally scowled_, it won't matter how big the kid's feet are, he's never going to make it to a teenager. I'm going to kill him first!_

"Back to the car, Dean," he barked as an icy chill worked its way through his jacket. "Your brother waited until I passed and then took off. C'mon, I think I knew where he's heading."

_Damn that letter…_

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Sam struggled against the powerful grip on his arm as he was dragged further into the brush and away from the road. He opened his mouth to scream for help and was harshly shaken. "Shut up! You don't want them to hear us, do you?!" Hot spittle stung his cheeks as a bloodied face loomed terrifyingly close. "Do you???!"

The stranger reeked of alcohol and Sam's fear spiked. _No! No!_ He managed a half cry before he was yanked close to the larger body and a cold hand clamped over his mouth. Hard. Terrified, the little boy squirmed and kicked desperately but his attacker only grunted and held tighter, moving them further into the woods, further away from Sam's family.

_Daddy!_

"Can't let them find us," the man muttered as he stumbled for a moment in the snow then rapidly regained his footing and kept moving, "Can't… can't let them get me… can't let them get you!"

Sam's teeth found the edge of the man's hand and the boy bit down. Immediately he was dropped into knee deep snow as the stranger yelled out in pain. "God - damnit!"

Scrambling to his feet, the child tried to run but couldn't. The snow was too deep and he flailed for a moment before the man recovered and grabbed at his arm again.

"DADDY!!" Sam screamed as he fell back and rolled just out of reach. _"DEAN!!!" _

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

John drove slowly, his eyes scanning along side the road looking for his missing son. Beside him, Dean had his own window all the way down and his sleep tousled head was all the way out the window as he yelled, "Sam? Sammy?" every couple of feet, ever hopeful that Sam would hear and step out in front of them.

They got all the way to the gas station and back again before Dean finally spoke to John, his face chalk white with worry and his voice sounding very young and scared. It tore at John, "Dad, where is he?" It was a brutal reminder just how young _both_ his boys were – _Dean is only eleven for cripes sake_ – and just what kind of responsibility he placed on those shoulders every day. It wasn't fair but he didn't know what else to do… The world he trusted in was very small and limited to only a few choice individuals, his young sons being the majority.

'_After I find your killer, Mary, I'll set it right for them… I promise.'_

He forced conviction into his voice, unwilling to further burden Dean with his father's own uncertainty knowing that the young hunter blamed himself enough as it was. It was the least he could do. "We'll find him, Dean."

"But -" the boy hedged, his gaze luminescent as it burned through John, "but what if we don't?"

John couldn't continue to meet that gaze. He turned his eyes back out front and then sighed. "I don't know, Dean… I really don't know…" But deep down he wasn't sure either of them could survive another loss.

'_C'mon, Sammy… give me something to work with, son, anything…'_

Parking in front of the cabin again, John got out and hurried back inside. "Sam?" he bellowed hoping the child had come to his senses and returned on his own. The hunter paused when he took in the threadbare little tree Dean had stuck up in the corner yesterday. He walked towards it and touched one of the green boughs.

A wistful smile tugged at his lips as John remembered how proud Dean had been when he'd lugged the sad looking thing inside. The boy had picked it out and chopped it down himself. _Thank God he hadn't found the chainsaw_ _in the trunk!_ It was Dean's gift to his little brother.

John pulled his hand back as if it had been burned. _So very different from the trees we used to have…_

A lump formed in the back of John's throat as he looked over the sparse decorations. Fingering one of the star shaped newspaper ornaments that Sam had made himself, his eyes burned. The little boy had labored over each one, fussing as he traced them and then cut them out, refusing to let any one else help. Insisting he was doing it for them. _Oh God_, John felt sick; they were Mary's children. There was just so much of his wife in them… and it stole his breath away.

Their Christmas tree was so pathetic, so lacking, and yet so perfect. _She_ would have been proud.

Blinking hard, the man gave one more glance around the empty cabin and then hurried outside. He had a son to find.

"Wait here," he ordered Dean as he opened the front passenger door and indicated that the boy get out. Seeing the mutinous look on his son's face, John added, "in case he comes back. I don't want him going back out looking for us."

Dean didn't look too thrilled but he got out of the car anyway.

The hunter moved around the front of the car to the driver's side door but then stopped and called after his sulking son, "Dean?" Dean turned to look back at him. "Good job with the tree, son." And then John was in the car and pulling away from the cabin before the boy had a chance to respond. He couldn't help but smile though at the pleased look he'd glimpsed on the eleven year old's face just before the man had pulled away… sometimes he forgot how very little it took to get that look.

_How the hell could I ever forget?_

John drove back down the lane towards the road. He stopped at the spot where he knew Sam had been and got out, grabbing a heavy flashlight and cursing his earlier decision to just go to where he thought the child was going to be, instead of tracking him there. But the night was cold and he had been so sure Sam would be at the gas station mailing that damn letter or, at the very least somewhere in between, he'd let his own emotions get in way of his better judgment. So now the man cursed himself for the lost time and what it might mean to his missing child.

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," he muttered as he moved quickly along the roadside. His son's tracks were getting harder to follow now but John persisted on. _'Mary, baby,'_ his mind whispered as the temperature dipped a bit further and the first snowflakes of an impending storm started, _'if you're up there somewhere… we really could use your help…'_ He fought down a surge of panic at the idea that he wouldn't find Sam or that he'd be too late when he did. '_I__ really could use your help here – it's our baby, Mary… your baby… please, I gotta find him. Please…'_

And then a piece of paper fluttered in the snow just in front of him and John bent down to pick it up.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Dean paced in the small living room, frustrated at being left behind. He wanted to be out there with his father looking for his brother. He _needed_ to be there when Sammy was found. He just needed to be!

He still couldn't believe the little twerp had gotten out of the bed without him knowing, let alone getting out of the whole damn cabin! And once they got Sam back, and he knew the kid was all right, Dean intended on ripping him a new one about that. _What was the kid thinking? He's only seven years old for Pete's sake! _

Hurt slipped in between anger and fear. _Why didn't Sam wake him up?_

The sound of a car pulling up outside sent the pre-teen rushing to the door and yanking it open before it even registered that the engine he'd heard wasn't the Impala.

It was a police cruiser.

_Shit!_

Two heavy set cops crunched the snow beneath their feet as they headed towards the door. The older one saw Dean before he could shut the door, "Hey, kid," he called out, "Is your father home?"

Dean paled. _Oh,crap. Christmas crap…_

_TBC -_


	4. Chapter 4

**The Letter**

**Chapter 4 – **

"Uh," Dean hedged; his mind frantically running scenarios for the best way to answer.

The older officer chuckled. "Okay, let's try something a little easier then… Do you know who owns that black car abandoned mid way down the lane?"

"Uh," _Shit. Shit. Shit._ "Is it an Impala?"

The men shared a look and again the older one spoke. "Chevy Impala. Four doors. License KAZ 2Y5."

_Busted._

"Yeah, that's our car." The cops had probably already run the plates anyway.

"Good," the cop nodded as he regarded Dean like Dean was five instead of almost twelve, "So is your father here?"

"No." No real benefit to lying. "He's out."

"Does he always just leave his car in the middle of the road like that?"

Dean flicked a gaze to the younger man. So he could talk… John Winchester's son, through and through, the young hunter narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. "It's our driveway, he can park it anyway he likes."

That garnered an amused look from both cops which totally pissed Dean off. They were obviously not taking him very seriously. "Is there a problem or can I go now?"

"No problem," the older guy said slowly, appraising Dean in a new light and the pre-teen decided he might want to drop the attitude before these guys found some reason for there to be a problem. That was the last thing he needed right now – a pissed off John Winchester.

"I'm sorry, officers." Contrite Dean threw in a remorseful look complete with Sammy patented puppy dog eyes – they were related, it should work right? "It's Christmas Eve and I should be in bed."

"Is your father on foot?" the younger guy pressed and Dean fought against saying 'duh'. Instead he just shrugged.

"He's not driving, that's all I know."

The cops exchanged a look and then the older one gave a slight nod. "Sorry to have bothered you… There's been a single vehicle accident west of here and we were kinda hoping the driver might have come here for help."

"No," Dean shook his head, his heart starting to pound as he thought about the possibility of his brother running into an injured stranger. And then he dismissed it. The gas station was east of their house. Sam had a good sense of direction so if he was going there to mail his letter, he shouldn't have come across the missing man. Of course, if his father was wrong about that –

"Okay, well then if you do see any one hanging around here that shouldn't be, please call 911. Good night young man and have a merry Christmas." The older cop turned to leave, his partner right behind him.

Dean chewed on his bottom lip and almost called after them. He wanted to tell them that his little brother was missing too. Instead he just shut the door, locked it and went back to pacing. His father had said he'd find Sammy – and Dean needed to believe him.

Stopping to stare at the little Christmas tree Dean let out a shaky breath, "Come home, Sammy," he whispered, "Please come home…"

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Sam was cold and tired. He wanted so desperately to go to sleep and he didn't even fight the stranger any more. It was no use. He couldn't outrun the man in the snow but most importantly the man scared him. Terrified him. The way he smelled, the way he rambled and repeated himself, but mostly the way he looked at Sam and kept telling the little boy to sit still and not cause a fuss. It was like the man wasn't really seeing Sam but knew he was there.

And Sam's arm hurt.

The last time the man had grabbed him something bad had happened. His arm had hurt so badly, Sam had thrown up and then almost passed out from the pain. Now he could hardly move it and when he did, it hurt so much it made him cry.

'_Winchesters don't cry'_, he told himself even as he sniffed hard and wished his Daddy was here or even Dean. Dean and the gun he'd started keeping under his pillow all the time. His brother didn't think Sam knew, but Sam knew a lot of things that Dean didn't think he did.

After Sam had gotten hurt the stranger had stopped moving them, instead insisting the child sit in the snow and make no sound which was fine with the kid since he was exhausted, hurting and cold. He couldn't even remember any more why he was out here.

"They're gonna come," the man rocked back and forth within grabbing distance of the little boy. Blood marred his face and ran down the side of his neck making him look even more scary. Wrapping an arm tightly around himself, the stranger continued to babble, "gonna take you away too… can't let that happen… can't be alone any more…" and then he stopped and looked at Sam, "You won't leave me, will you?" he pleaded, a half crazed look on his grotesque face. "Will you? You won't leave?"

He reached out to touch Sam and the child shivered and shied away, groaning in pain.

"Will you?" the stranger persisted, his voice odd sounding as if it was suddenly getting hard to breath.

The child closed his eyes and felt new wetness on his cold cheeks, too afraid to answer and just as afraid not to and then he heard the man cry out in pain.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

_Dear Mr. Santa Claus,_

_My name is Sam Winchester and I'm seven years old and all I want this Christmas is my Mommy back. _

_She died when I was a baby so I don't remember her but my Daddy and my big brother Dean do and they love her and miss her. It makes them sad __a lot__. I try to make them smile but it's real hard sometimes. _

_Dean says Winchester's ain't supposed to cry but I heard Daddy crying last night and I don't want him to be so sad anymore. _

_That's all. I don't need anything else but if you want to ask Tommy Watkins to stop saying mean things to me that would be nice too. _

_Love, Sammy Winchester_

_PS – don't mess up the salt line or else my Daddy is going to be really mad and I tried to leave you some cookies but my brother found them first. He's always hungry. Sorry. _

John just stood there and stared at the letter. His hands shook and not from the cold. One single tear scalded his cheek. _Oh God…_ His son's simple wish cut him to the soul.

Sam wanted Santa to bring Mary back. Not because _Sam_ missed her but because Dean and John missed her.

…_I heard Daddy crying last night…_ John closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. He had never meant either of his sons to hear that.

Clutching the precious piece of paper tightly between his fingers, he cursed himself, humbled by the child's selfless request and by the depth of love the little boy had for them. _'I'm sorry.'_ He finally understood. Now. "God – damnit all to hell, I'm so, so sorry…"

Swallowing hard, the hunter opened his eyes and blinked the wetness from them. He had to find Sam.

Glancing around, John's face hardened. He saw his son's tracks… and someone else's.

_Shit._

Stealthily the hunter moved quickly through the brush as he followed the trail the falling snow threatened to hide. Anger coursed through his veins setting his jaw in a hard line and his every instinct coiled and ready to act. There'd be hell to pay if anyone hurt his son.

'_Hang on, Sammy, Daddy's coming.' _

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Sam watched with wide eyes as the stranger dropped to his knees, doubled over and vomited. The snow turned red.

"Help," the man gasped between bouts of painful heaving, "Help… me…"

Terrified the child pushed himself back to his feet. He was afraid of the stranger and his arm hurt but the man sounded so – so _scared_. The little boy wasn't used to adults being afraid. His daddy was never afraid of anything!

And suddenly the stranger didn't look so threatening anymore.

"Mister?" Sam whispered as he glanced around unsure what to do. He had no idea where they were and couldn't remember which way the man had brought him. The sound of retching made him look down just in time to see the stranger collapse into the snow. Panicking the little hunter did the only thing he could think of, he yelled for his father.

"DADDY! _DADDDDYYY!!!_"

…

John cursed the deep snow as he struggled through it, he knew he wasn't far behind Sam but every moment was a moment too long.

He had just cleared a small grove of trees when he heard his son's terrified voice.

"_DADDY! DADDDDYYY!!!"_

Suddenly the snow was no longer an obstacle as the hunter ate up the distance between him and his distressed child, almost stumbling over the prone stranger face down in the snow. _What the -?_

"Daddy!"

He barely had time to register Sam before the little boy was throwing himself at John, burying his face in his father's jacket and alternating between sobbing and gasping in pain.

"Sammy?" John wrapped his arms around the small, shaking body, holding his boy tightly to him for a moment before pushing the child away so he could see what was hurting. "Sammy? Are you okay, son?"

"My arm," the little boy whimpered. "My arm hurts!"

John saw the way one shoulder drooped lower then the other and carefully pulled the child back into an embrace. He was pretty certain the shoulder was dislocated and then his face darkened with anger. Someone _had_ hurt his child. He turned to look at the downed man.

Sam struggled slightly and the hunter let him go. "Daddy," his son's voice tore warmth through his anger, "you need to help him! He's hurt."

John stared down at his son in disbelief. "Didn't he _hurt_ you?"

The child glanced at the unconscious man and slowly nodded his head. A heavy shiver ran through the seven year old and John kicked himself for not bringing a blanket from the Impala. He quickly shrugged out of his coat; the heavy woolen cardigan he was wearing underneath it would keep him warm enough for now. "Yeah… but – but he's sick! We can't leave him, Daddy, we can't." John was stunned by the depth of the child's compassion. "It's Christmas, we _have_ to help him!"

The hunter took a deep breath to steady his soul. He gave his son a weak nod. "Okay, Sammy, but first we help you…"

Sam stared at him in confusion.

"Your arm, Sammy, I need to fix it first." John didn't look forward to putting the joint back in place, especially in a child as small as Sam, but it was still a fair trek back to the road and he was worried about permanent nerve damage if he prolonged treating it.

The little boy's eyes widened, "Is it going to hurt?"

John opened his mouth to say it wouldn't but then settled on the truth. He just couldn't find it in himself right now to lie. "I'm sorry, Sammy," he apologized, "it will, but it'll feel a whole lot better afterwards." He quickly added when he saw the open panic on Sam's face. "And then we'll get you and him out of here, okay?" He glanced at the unconscious man. '_His lungs sound compromised, what the hell's going on?'_

The child sighed wearily and then nodded. "Okay, Daddy." Sam's eyes shone as he looked up at his father, "I'm sorry for going out."

The weight of the Santa letter pressed against John and he gave his son's good shoulder a gentle squeeze. "We'll talk about this later, Sammy. Let's just get you home first before Dean finds my secret stash of M&M's and OD's on sugar."

They both new Hyper Dean was never a pretty sight.

…

Relief lightened the child's face and Sam smiled. His Daddy was here and he'd make everything better –

And then he remembered his letter to Santa Claus. His face fell. He'd lost it when the stranger grabbed him. Now he'd never get his wish for sure.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you everyone for your kind reviews! Again this story is for TraSan! And I have to thank my wonderful beta, Red Hardy! **

**The Letter**

**Chapter 5 – **

Sam slowly trudged along behind his father as they made their way back to the road. His shoulder still throbbed painfully, even after his father had reset it and then used his own belt to support Sam's arm so it wouldn't pull on the abused muscles. The little boy licked the blood from his lip as he shivered and remembered the pain. His father had been right about it going to hurt. John had been quick but still the pain had been blinding and Sam had put his teeth through his bottom lip before it was done.

He really wished Dean were here. His brother just had this way of making things better.

'_All in all'_, the little boy thought miserably, '_this is turning out to be the worse Christmas ever.' _

"Keep up, Sam," John barked out, sounding slightly breathless as he struggled through the snow, encumbered with carrying the other man. The stranger groaned but didn't regain consciousness.

Sam tried to go faster but he was quickly succumbing to the cold, his pain and weariness. He wished he were still little enough to be carried, not that his father could carry him now anyways.

His mind began to wander…

'_Does Santa hear our prayers? I could pray to him. Then he'd know for sure what I want –'_

He sighed. '_No, stupid. Santa was magic. Not God.'_

'_What was Christmas like when Dean was little? I bet he had a really big tree and probably got lots of presents –' _

He sniffled, his feet beginning to drag.

'_I wish we could have that now…'_

Something tightened in his chest.

'_Why did Mommy have to die?'_

"Sammy?" His father's voice right next to him startled the child. He hadn't even noticed that John had stopped and was now standing right in front of him. _"Son?"_ Worry darkened his father's eyes and Sam felt his own water. He didn't want to make his daddy worry or see him sad. This was Christmas. This was supposed to be the best time of the year – that's what everyone on television said.

"I'm tired, Daddy," Sam mumbled, his voice barely a whisper. "I want to go home now."

His father nodded, "Me too, buddy," he admitted and then glanced in the direction they needed to go. "We're almost there though. Just a little bit further and you'll have Dean fussing over you." He paused for a moment and then looked back at Sam, "Can you make it?"

Sam was surprised by the question. His father never asked, he told.

John lifted an eyebrow, "Sam? You still with me?"

The little boy nodded tiredly. There really wasn't a choice. His father couldn't carry them both, as much as Sam wanted him too. "Yes, sir." He wasn't sure he'd even spoken the words until he felt his father brush his face and then coax him forward with his hand.

"C'mon, son, we're almost there."

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

"Dad!" Dean was halfway out of the cabin and down the steps as soon as he heard the familiar grumble of the Impala. '_Please let him have, Sammy, please!'_

Refusing to stop there, the boy slipped and slid his way down the lane towards the approaching car, his youthful form lit up by the headlights briefly before his father yanked the car hard to the side and slammed on the brakes.

"Dean! What the hell –?"

Dean didn't care that his father was pissed at him as he ran the last few steps to the car and yanked the passenger door open it. '_Sammy's got to be there! He's just go to!'_ The young hunter jumped back when a large and bloodied man almost fell out.

"God-damnit!" John barked, "Close the door!"

The stunned boy did. What was going on? Where was Sam??

"Get in the back with your brother -" the man growled, "_Now_, Dean!"

Dean didn't have to be told twice.

"Sammy?" he whispered getting his first look at the little boy in two hours.

Red-rimmed hazel eyes turned towards him and Dean sucked in his breath. Sam looked terrible.

"D-Dad?" Dean's voice trembled as he quickly took in the bloodied lip and makeshift sling. He wanted to reach out and touch his brother but he was afraid he might hurt him more. The little boy looked ready to break.

"He's okay, Dean," John seemed to understand. "Dislocated his shoulder and he's a bit cold, but he'll be okay. Now shut the door, we gotta go."

The older boy slammed the door as he slid across the seat. He had so many questions but recognized his father's 'need-to-know' tone, and apparently Dean didn't need to know. Not yet.

Sobbing something that sounded like 'Dean', Sam burrowed against him, pressing his good shoulder against Dean's chest. Instantly Dean wrapped his arms around the little boy, shocked by the shivers that raced through Sam's body. His brother felt like a Popsicle.

"He's real cold, Dad," Dean said quietly wishing he'd grabbed his own coat before bolting out the door. Heck, he was lucky he'd put boots on. Sam pressed in closer and closed his eyes.

Flicking his eyes up to the rearview mirror, John caught Dean's eye. "Don't let him go to sleep." And then notched the heater up a bit more.

Immediately Dean jostled his brother carefully, "Hey, Sammy, you heard Dad, no night-night time for you." Hazel eyes opened with reluctance and then scowled at him; the eleven year old thought it was the most beautiful look in the world. He grinned. "See, that wasn't too hard, was it?"

"M'tired, Dean," Sam slurred. "Can w'go 'ome now?"

"Not yet, Sammy," John answered for his older son, "we need to get this guy to a hospital. And I want someone to take a look at that arm while we're there."

Sam sighed and leaned his full weight against his brother. Dean cast a worried glance over his sibling wishing he could see how bad the arm was for himself, not that he didn't trust his father, but he just felt responsible for all things 'Sammy.' And he hated seeing his brother hurt.

"But it's Chris'mas," Dean heard the tears in his brother's voice, "I w'nt go 'ome."

"Sam," their father's voice held a note of warning and Dean quietly tried to shush his brother.

"It's okay, Sammy," he whispered, his brother's hair tickling his nose as he pressed his mouth close to the little boy's ear, "we'll be home long before Santa!" Instead of comforting the younger child, Sam turned his face into Dean's chest and began sobbing in earnest.

Confused and scared by this very un-Sam like behavior Dean didn't know what to do so he just wrapped his arms more tightly around Sam and wished the hospital into sight.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

John Winchester sat hunched over in the straight-backed hospital waiting room chair, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands; some stranger's blood was on his clothes and the memory of his son's painfilled scream echoed through his mind. Relocating that tiny shoulder had been one of the emotionally hardest things he'd ever done. _I'm supposed to protect him, not hurt him…_ Sitting beside him, his eleven year old fidgeted in his seat, chewed at his thumbnail and swung his feet in agitation.

"Stop it, Dean," the hunter growled when he couldn't take the motion any more. It was two a.m. on Christmas and his children should have been home in their beds not here. _'Home,'_ he mentally scoffed, _'as if that pathetic little backwoods cabin is any kind of home.'_ Bitterness burned in the back of his throat as he thought of the scrawny little Christmas tree and meager presents waiting for them.

This wasn't the life he wanted for his sons.

Dean stopped moving and sighed loudly instead. John closed his eyes, his body tense when the next sigh came, not thirty seconds later.

Two policemen striding into the waiting room had the hunter sitting up slowly. The men spoke to the nurse on duty and she cast a glance towards him. John had been expecting this but he still didn't like it. Law enforcement had done very little good for him.

The police approached him.

"Dad," Dean's voice was quiet. "They came to the cabin when you were looking for Sammy… said someone had an accident and they were looking for the driver."

John nodded and then stood to greet the officers.

"Mr. Winchester?" the older one addressed him, "I'm Officer Micheals and this is Officer Roberts, can we have a word with you," the man gave Dean a condescending look before he finished, "in private?"

The hunter stiffened. He put his hand on Dean's shoulder. "He can stay."

"Are you sure?" the man pressed.

John let his hand drop as he repeated. "He stays."

The cops exchanged a look and then shrugged, "Okay, it's your call." He flipped open a note pad. The hunter rolled his eyes, '_really, how stereotypical?'_ "We understand that you found the victim wandering around on your property and brought him here. Is that correct?"

John nodded. "Sounds about right."

Again the cops exchanged a look and this time the younger one spoke, "Do you mind me asking what _you_ were doing out at this hour?"

"Yes I do," the hunter kept his gaze leveled at the police. His family was none of their business.

"Okay then," the younger one drawled and then fixed John with a piercing look, "do you mind telling me what happened to your son's arm?"

John stiffened. Okay so this was how they wanted to play it. "Why don't you ask your 'victim'? He's the one who hurt my son."

The older cop shook his head. "That's not possible. The '_victim_' is known to us, and I can assure you, he isn't violent."

"Possible or not," the hunter growled, he shifted slightly to put himself between these men and Dean. "_it_ happened. He grabbed my boy and dragged him into the brush for God only knows what. That guy should consider himself lucky that he was already out cold when I found him!" Anger seethed through every pore in John's body. These cops were dicks!

"He was probably confused," a new voice supplied from behind John and he quickly whirled around, pushing Dean behind him once again, as he moved. A young woman with a white coat approached them and John recognized her as one of the attending physicians. "I'm not his doctor so I can't really comment on his condition but I can tell you he _was_ intoxicated, compounded with a severe concussion and internal injuries, I'm pretty sure he had no idea about what he was doing. Thankfully, though, you found him. And if help had been delayed for much longer… well, let's just say it would have been a very different Christmas for him."

The police nodded, seemingly in agreement with her and for some reason that just really pissed the hunter off. How dare they forget the real victim in all this?

"What about my son?" John demanded. Dean edged closer, anxious and young looking. "Any news on Sam?"

"Your son is doing just fine." She assured them with a smile. "He's just being brought down from radiology and things look good. The shoulder is sitting very nicely back in the socket and I'm confident that with proper restraint and limited activities for the next couple of weeks, Sam will bounce back in no time at all… You can see him just as soon as we get him settled."

"_Settled?_" John heard the barely contained panic in his son's voice. "What do you mean settled? He's not staying here! It's Christmas! He needs to be home… with us."

"We _would_ like to keep him overnight," the physician started. John cut her off. That wasn't happening.

"He's not staying." John's tone brooked no nonsense. "Give me discharge instructions and pain killers for him. I was a medic in the Panama," he had no trouble lying to her, "and I can read… No son of mine is going to wake up Christmas morning in a hospital bed. Not if I can help it."

The woman opened her mouth to argue but Dean spoke first. "Please, don't make him stay here. You don't know Sammy, he needs to be with us. He needs to be home! Please… me and my Dad we can take care of him. We always do!"

John watched the doctor. How could she possibly say no?

He knew they had won when the woman exhaled loudly. He grinned and clasped Dean proudly on the back when she walked away muttering something about being a big softy and that they'd better take care of that kid or else she'd personally make sure Santa put something nasty in John's stocking.

The older cop nodded at Dean. "You're a very lucky man." He commented, "Two good kids – that poor bastard in there," he tipped his head towards the ER, "the guy you found? He lost his wife and two children last year in a car accident." He glanced at his partner. "Me and Donny, there, we pulled him from the wreckage. There was nothing we could do for his family… He's not been the same since." John gaped at the officer. "Anyways, you take your boys home and have a great Christmas… Good night." And then they closed their little notebooks and left.

Swallowing hard, John looked down at Dean. His fingers moved into his coat pocket and curled around the wrinkled envelope. The cop was right. He was a lucky man…

And it was high time he remembered that. At least for one day.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**I apologize for the delay but, as some of you know, I've been really sick and in the hospital twice since New Year's Eve and am only just know getting back to myself. So, no I have not abandoned this story or 'Little Boy Lost', you will just need to bare with me as I get better. To Trasan, I hope you continue to enjoy your Secret Santa fic. I am not sure it is turning out to be what you were looking for but I hope you are enjoying it anyways. There will be one more chapter after this and I am going to be sad to see it done. I have enjoyed spending this time with them. And a special thank you to my beta, Red Hardy, for sticking with me through this. If I forgot anything, I'm sorry but I'm still just very tired.**

**The Letter**

'_Growing up, were your Christmases that bad?' Dean Winchester._

'_No…' Sam Winchester. A Very Supernatural Christmas _

**Chapter 6 – **

John pulled the Impala up outside the little rented cabin and stopped. In the backseat both his boys were sleeping.

Glancing in the rearview mirror at them, the hunter could barely see Sam's face as he snuggled into Dean's side, cocooned warmly under John's heavy jacket. Dean's cheek rested on the top of his little brother's head and as he snoozed lightly, Sam's dark hair tickled his nose with every exhale.

The breath caught in John's throat at his children's innocent entanglement and he marveled how, even in sleep, the younger boy instinctively turned to his brother while Dean protectively wrapped himself around him, intuitive of the injured shoulder.

John was humbled. And so proud.

_Oh, Mary, if only you could see them now…_

His heart ached anew.

Turning his attention back to the cabin, John just shook his head. The front door had been left wide open, obviously forgotten in Dean's haste, but the man couldn't find it in his heart to fault the boy. He'd just been worried about his brother…

John thought about the meager Christmas that waited for them inside and then about the crinkled letter in his pocket. _Dear Mr. Santa Claus…_ Closing his eyes, the hunter leaned back in the driver's seat. His children deserved so much more.

"Daddy?" Dean's voice was quiet. John opened his eyes but didn't move his head – he should have realized his young hunter would pick up on the change in the car's movements and wake up. The kid was a natural. "We getting out?" The boy kept his voice purposefully low so he wouldn't disturb his brother. Not that that was possible given the powerful painkillers that had put Sam under.

The hunter opened his mouth to answer and then stopped. That was a good question. Were they getting out? He pursed his lips as he thought about his alternatives, unfortunately there weren't very many. He had one.

"Wait here," John was already pushing the car door open and was half outside before adding, "I'll be right back." He didn't need to look to see the uncertain look on his son's face, it was easy enough to imagine.

Taking the cabin steps two at a time, the hunter quickly tossed the 'presents', lame as they were, into an overnight bag, along with some extra clothes for the boys. He made sure all the lights were off and then headed for the door, pausing only long enough to grab the pathetic little tree and hope there was enough room in the trunk of the Impala; somehow it just didn't seem right to leave it behind. It was an honorary Winchester after all.

Then double checking that he had some coins in his pocket John locked the cabin and hurried back to the car. He had a phone call to make.

Dean was still awake when he got in the car and gave him an odd look. John knew the boy was dying to know what was going on and he almost told him. But then decided Sam wasn't the only one who'd be surprised, counting on his older son to fall asleep sometime in the next hour.

Ten minutes later, John was pumping money into a pay phone and smiled when he heard a sleepy voice growl, _'You'd better be dying…'_ He knew he was doing the right thing.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Dean tried to stay awake, really he did, but as the snow covered blacktop hummed under the wheels of the Impala and his brother breathed soft and warm against his neck the eleven year old finally gave into exhaustion and nodded off.

He jerked awake less than an hour later when he felt the car slow down. Stifling a yawn, he rubbed his eyes and peered out the window wondering at the time and where they were. It was dark, he saw that.

And then his jaw dropped in shock – 

_Holy shit! _

They weren't in Myrtle, Minnesota anymore… they were in Blue Earth. His father had driven them to Pastor Jim Murphy's!

Dean gasped out loud as he pressed his nose against the window and stared up at the big rectory house. The preacher's residence was almost ablaze with hundreds of tiny Christmas lights, twinkling and blinking against the snow in the early morning darkness. He just stared at them, totally transfixed, drinking in their warmth. _Wow._ Something painful tightened in his chest.

When he finally tore his gaze away he was surprised to see that his father was watching _him._ Dean blushed, not used to the fond scrutiny. _'Okay'_, he admitted, remembering he was supposed to be a tough-guy, '_getting all emotional over Christmas lights is pretty lame'_… but then his father's face took on a faraway look and he started to talk.

"Did you know that every Christmas Eve, me and your Mom would bundle you up in the back of this old car and drive around for _hours_ just so _you_ could see all the lights…" John gave a fond chuckle. Dean could barely breathe. He blinked hard as he held on to each word. "When you got old enough to talk, you'd say 'wow' at every house… and your Mom – your Mom would get this little look on her face…" his father cleared his throat, his voice when he spoke again was hoarse, "_she loved you_, Dean, don't you dare ever forget that!" The fierceness behind the words brought tears to Dean's eyes.

_Mommy…_

The front door of the house opened and a housecoat clad minister wearing mukluk boots stepped onto the porch. He hurried down the steps towards them.

"C'mon, Dean," John spoke gruffly, "Let's get Sammy inside."

Sniffling hard, the pre-teen held onto his brother until his father reached in for Sam. For a brief moment their eyes met, their spirits kindred in love and grief, and then the man took his brother away. Irrational panic surged as Dean felt the loss of Sam's warm body and he scrambled out of the car after his family.

…

"I've fixed up the boys' room," Pastor Jim spoke quietly as he led John into the house. He kept one hand on Dean's shoulder, gently guiding the exhausted boy around the furniture. "And put the cot in there for you," he continued on through the hallway, "figured you wouldn't want to be too far from them."

"Thanks, Jim." John was exhausted as he carried his unconscious son into the spare bedroom his boys used whenever they were staying with the minister. The blankets on the bunk beds had already been turned down and he gently laid Sam on the bottom one. Dean slowly climbed onto the upper one, under the careful eye of the minister. Jim Murphy was one of the few people that John entrusted with his children's care. He trusted this man as a brother.

Once he'd gotten Sam settled and saw Dean hunker down, John let himself sink down on the cot. But then he remembered the stuff in the trunk and moved to get up. Jim put out a hand to stop him.

"I gotta go to the car," each word felt an effort as the adrenaline that had kept him going all night quickly weaved out of his system now that they were 'safe'.

Jim fixed him with a stern 'ministerly' glare. "Stay with your boys, John." He held out his hand, "Give me the keys." The hunter barely hesitated, pulling out the keys along with Sam's letter. John paled.

"What's that?" the cleric asked, obviously having caught the change in his friend's pallor.

"This?" John glanced at the beds and lowered his voice. He was pretty certain Dean had basically passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow but in case – "This is Sam's letter to Santa."

The other man cocked an eyebrow in question. John held it out to him, a wordless invitation.

Jim took the envelope and opened it. His eyes widened and then saddened as he read it. John slowly stretched out on the small cot. It wasn't really big enough for him to sleep comfortably but he'd make due. There was another bed down the hall that he could use but he wanted to be here when the boys awoke – they were going to need to talk.

"Oh dear," the cleric finally said as he carefully folded the precious piece of paper and slipped it back into the envelope.

"Yeah," John agreed wearily, "Pretty much."

"Do you want me to talk to him?" Jim offered and the hunter shook his head. That is not why he wanted to bring his family here.

"Thanks but I think this is something I need to do myself."

The minister nodded slowly, "Do you think you can?'

John was irritated, for about a second. Jim had a point and he seriously considered that for a few minutes. Could he? What would he say? Finally he admitted. "I don't know. I just know I have to." His eyes searched the ceiling above him for answers. _Mary…_

Turning onto his side, he propped his head up on his hand and sighed. "Thanks for letting us come, on such short notice."

Jim snorted softly. "Short notice, all right… Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a decent sized turkey at four in the morning?"

John gave that serious consideration and then deadpanned as he finally settled down. "Ah. No, actually I don't."

"Well," Huffed the good-natured cleric, "Let's just say a bit more than a couple of hail Mary's."

The hunter chuckled and tried to keep his eyes open. Jim took pity on him; as he felt a warm blanket tossed off his body and the lights were turned off, John knew that coming here had been the right thing.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Well TraSan it's finally done and I hope you enjoy it. Belated Merry Christmas:)**

**The Letter**

'_Growing up, were your Christmas' that bad?' Dean Winchester._

'_No…' Sam Winchester. A Very Supernatural Christmas_

**Chapter 7 – **

The smell of something cooking woke Sam. His stomach growled and he stirred, groggy and hurting.

His eyes slowly blinked open as one hand moved up to rub at his painfully throbbing shoulder. For a moment he just lay in the bed, barely daring to breathe as he tried to remember where he was and why his arm was hurting. His mind was a muddled, foggy place that didn't want to work too well and he just took careful breaths as he stared up at the planks above his head. _Planks? A bunkbed?_ Now the child was really confused. He and Dean only slept in bunkbeds when they stayed with Pastor Jim – but why would he be at Pastor Jim's?

But this looked like the Pastor's room…

And then he shifted slightly and the throbbing pain made him softly whimper.

"Sammy?" A brown head peeked down at him. "You okay?" A second later, Dean had twisted around and carefully slid down to sit beside his sibling. His hazel eyes were wide in his pale face.

"Dean," Sam didn't want to cry but he was confused and hurting and right now he wanted someone to make sense of all this for him. "My arm…"

"It's going to be okay," the older boy quickly assured as he tugged up the end of the sheet and wiped at Sam's face. "The doctor gave Dad some pills for you-" As if on cue, the door behind them opened and a freshly washed and clothed John Winchester strode into the room. His face dropped briefly when he saw the boys were awake.

"I was hoping to be back before you woke up," he offered and then smiled brightly. "Merry Christmas, boys."

"It's Christmas morning?" Dean grinned. "Wow!"

"Well technically Christmas afternoon," their father corrected. "You lazy bones slept through the morning."

Sam's eyes went saucer wide – oh no it was Christmas! He never mailed his letter!

Overwhelmed the little boy burst into tears and tried to turn away from his family. This was horrible!

"Sammy?" Dean turned to his father seemingly unsure what to do, "Dad?"

"Its okay, Dean" Sam felt the bed dip as his father perched on the edge next to him "I got this one. Why don't you go see if you can give Pastor Jim a hand in the kitchen? We'll open presents in a few minutes."

Dean's eyes widened "Presents?"

_Presents?_ Sam felt even worse. Santa _had_ been here…

"It _is_ Christmas, Dean," he heard his father remind "Now go on… I need a few moments with your brother."

Sam felt a slight moment of panic when he heard the door open and close and knew his brother had gone but then he felt his father's hand on his good arm. "Sammy? Son, I think we need to talk."

Sniffing hard and trying to stop his tears, the little boy turned towards his Dad, trying to 'suck it up' like he knew his brother would. His resolve crumbled when he recognized the piece of paper in his father's hand – it was his letter to Santa. It was hard being a big boy.

"Sam," his father's voice was unusually gentle and he forced his eyes up from the letter to look at the man's face. He didn't recall his father ever looking so tired before. "I read what you wrote -" The little boy stared at him. His dad was supposed to _mail_ the letter, not _read_ it. "And I think we need to talk about it…"

"It was 'pposed to be a surprise," the little boy pouted as he rubbed at his hurting arm. _Didn't Dean say Daddy had some medicine so it wouldn't hurt so much?_

His father must have seen his pain because he shifted out of Sam's sight and then leaned back holding a small white pill and a glass of water. "Here take this first. It'll help with the pain."

"What happened to me?" Sam asked after he'd swallowed the pill.

"You don't remember?" his father's voice was oddly gruff and the child shook his head,

"It's kinda fuzzy up here," he admitted as he tentatively rubbed his head. It didn't hurt, it just felt thick. John reached out and gently ran fingers through Sam's hair and the child leaned into the touch, his father's affection craved like something missing deep in his soul.

"You left the cabin by yourself -" the older man reminded, his eyes narrowed slightly as he lightly reprimanded, "Which you know you're not supposed to do…" Sam dropped his eyes. Yeah, he kinda remembered that part. "And ran into a very confused man… _Sam_?" He looked back up at his father. The older man sighed "You were very lucky last night that I was able to find you when I did. Do you have any idea how badly that could have turned out?" The child didn't actually, but he nodded anyway 'cause that was what his father expected. John's tone turned stern and Sam tensed knowing a lecture was about to come. "When I tell you boys something, Sam, I expect it to be obeyed. I don't make these rules up for something to do – they're important, and they're about keeping you and your brother safe. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," Sam muttered as he hoped the medicine kicked in soon. He tried to defend himself. "But Daddy, this was important! I had to mail my letter to Santa! _I had to_!"

Some of the sternness shifted out of his father's face but Sam didn't recognize the new look that settled there. "Oh, Sammy…" the man sighed again. "Son, I'm sorry I didn't mail it like I said, but I'm also glad because if I had I never would have known what you asked for… and we need to talk about that." Sam felt something nervous flutter in his stomach. "Son," his father swallowed hard, "Santa can't bring your Mother back…" Brightness shone in the older man's eyes, his voice lowered, "I'm sorry, son, no one can."

Sam's eyes swam. "But," he tried. The older hunter cut him off gruffly.

"No buts, Sam. That's just the way it is."

The child didn't understand – that wasn't how it was supposed to work. Hurt and confused he tried to turn away from his father but John grasped his thin shoulder keeping him in place. "Sammy-"

"No, Daddy." He just wanted to curl up, go to sleep and forget about Christmas forever.

"Son," John wasn't taking no for an answer. "You need to understand that this isn't something you can ask for. _Ever_." His voice hardened. "Your mother is dead, Sam, and she isn't coming back."

Sam sniffed and used his good arm to wipe his nose. "I just wanted you and Dean to be happy," he mumbled. "That's all."

His father exhaled loudly and then stood up. "I know you did but we don't always get what we want… It sucks and it isn't fair but that's just the way it is." His voice softened and he held out his hand, "C'mon, son, let's go open presents."

Sam let his father help him out of the bed. He looked up at the man. "Daddy," he hedged and waited until John looked down at him, "Did Mommy love me?"

For one long moment his father just stared at him, an odd sick look on his face and then he growled; the words grit through his teeth, "Of course she did Sam, what hell kind of stupid question is that?"

The little boy cringed but persisted anyways. Sam had rarely heard his father speak about his mother so he grasped at this chance knowing it might never come again. "But how do you know? I was only a baby, she didn't know me!"

"Oh Sammy…" his father rubbed a hand over his mouth as he sat back down on the edge of the bottom bunk. He leaned forward and scratched at the back of his neck. Sam waited for the man to say something else. After a moment of nothing, he reached out tentatively and placed a hand against the side of his father's face

"Daddy?"

John closed his eyes and covered the smaller hand with his own. "Son, your mother loved you very much… You were – _are_ – her baby. Her little boy blue… The way her eyes softened every time she looked at you… the way she hummed little tunes just for you whenever she held you in her arms…" Something warm wet Sam's hand. "Sammy," his father opened his eyes and held his gaze. "She loved you. I promise you that."

Fresh tears stained his cheeks and the child sobbed, "I never got to tell _her_ I loved her, too!"

Strong arms enveloped him and Sam was pulled into his father's embrace. "She knew, baby," he whispered. "She knew…"

Suddenly, the door burst open startling both Winchesters. John stood up as Sam tried to wipe the tears from his face, his brother stood framed in the doorway.

"Dean?"

"C'mon, Dad," Dean implored, so excited he was almost dancing on the spot, "Sammy, you gotta see the haul Santa left! Holy shi- I mean cow! And the turkey," his big brother actually vibrated and it was hard for the younger child not to smile at his enthusiasm. Dean held his arms apart as far as he could. "It's huge!!"

John looked down at Sam and the little boy sniffed again, scrubbed the last of the tears from his face and then nodded that he was okay now. He wasn't exactly fine but he was better… and starting to feel a little bubble of excitement of his own about what might be under the Christmas tree.

"Well c'mon," Dean darted between the two and grabbed Sam's good hand, practically towing him out of the room, "C'mon, c'mon!!"

"Easy, Dean," their father chastised lightly even as he shook his head and followed them towards the door, "watch your brother's arm."

Dean tossed a scowl over his shoulder and Sam giggled in spite of himself, thankful the painkillers had finally kicked in. Like his big brother would ever forget he was hurt!

And then Sam saw the festively decorated living room and huge Christmas tree dwarfing the little one his father had brought from the motel and he just stopped and gaped. He'd never seen anything like this.

Garland draped the fireplace mantel and windows as a train set traversed a path around the smaller tree, its shrill whistle blowing at every pass. Gaily wrapped presents with bows and name tags nestled beneath the larger tree as soft music cooed an accompaniment in the background. Sam felt his eyes well up again. Beside him, his brother's grin widened; Dean wrapped a slender arm around Sam's shoulders, leaned over and whispered, "Merry Christmas, little brother."

…

Pastor Jim smiled from the kitchen doorway. "Turkey or presents first?" he asked as he winked at John. The senior Winchester was already taking a seat next to the trees before the boys shouted, "PRESENTS!"

"Do you even need to ask?" John teased his old friend as he got comfortable and watched as Dean picked through the presents, the self appointed Santa's elf.

"I really wish I'd had more time to prepare," Jim whispered as he crouched down next to the hunter. "There's not much there for them, some Hardy Boys books for Sam and a walkman for Dean."

John watched as Sam opened one of his gifts – the new jeans – and saw the pleased look on the child's face as he traced fingers over the material and whispered back. "It'll be fine, Jim. They really don't ask for much." Something tightened in his chest as he realized the truth in those words. They really didn't want much… Just him. John sighed and leaned back in the chair, and then he shook his head, shoved the melancholy away. This wasn't about him, not today. This was about his boys.

Forcing his own guilt to the back of his mind, John laughed out loud as Dean opened the box with his new boots and then pretended they were trying to eat Sam's new jeans as the younger boy tried to twist away to protect his clothes. Dean beamed at seeing his father's reaction and John gave him an approving wink. And then as he watched and listened, something in the hardened hunter lightened and he just knew that – at least this once – Mary would have been proud of him.

_Did Mommy love me?_

John swallowed hard, the question sucker punching him as much in memory as it had at the time. How could Sam have not known? But then as he thought about how little the child was told about his mother, he probably should have seen the question coming. It just hurt and he wished he was stronger, that he had the strength to talk to his children about their mother without feeling the searing pain of her loss as fresh as the night it happened.

"Daddy?" Sam smiled up at him from where he was sitting on the floor, holding his new books in his good hand, his new jeans draped across his lap. Dean stopped fiddling with his new walkman to watch, his hazel eyes drifting from his little brother to his father.

The hunter cleared his throat. "Yes, Sammy?"

"Merry Christmas!"

Then Dean chimed in with his best falsetto voice as he sniffed his new stick of deodorant, "And God bless us all, each and every one!"

…

And from somewhere not so far away an angel with blond hair smiled down at her little family and whispered softly, _Amen…_

THE END


End file.
